Evangeline Sablier is not broken, but please (handlewithcare) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-02-06 22:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *log, *narrative, evangeline sablier, graham ross |
Narrative + Loggy Thingy: Evie S and Graham R
Who: Evie. Then Graham and Evie + Babies
Where: The Kitchen in the Skinny House!
What: Middle of the Night Conditioner Making and Baby Soothing and Chit Chattingish
When: Recently ok
Warnings: Nah
Evie didn't usually judge her days by the amount of felonies she'd committed. But today that number stood at two. Or rather, she assumed it stood at one, she didn't know what counted as a felony in the borough of Queens but when she'd gone through the hotel into her apartment, found the eviction noted - fuck - broken and entered (felony?) into her landlord's garage and filled Daisy's wooden wagon with a box of clothes for each of them, her baby book (that served to hold pictures of Will and her Papa), the pak and play, stroller, and a bits and bobs she needed to make her soaps and what not, she was just going to leave. Instead she decided to absolutely destroy everything else in there (felony #2?). She didn't know, but it had been God damn cathartic - it hadn't snowed or stormed while she'd done it - and it wasn't until she was back in the skinny house putting big fat piece of surgical padding on her broken stitches that she even remotely thought it had been a bad idea. And only because now she'd need to bother those great ladies at the East End clinic again. But not today. For now she wasn't in any danger of bleeding out. So she took about five Advil and went about putting her boxes in a corner where they would be inconspicuous lest Shane and Graham thought she was moving in permanently.
She hadn't really slept much the night before and Daisy was ready for a nap, so she unpacked the pak and play, put her blankets in there and laid her down, puppy wanted in too so the three of them napped for a good two hours. And went to the library shortly after waking. She had made it a bit of a habit to try and make herself scarce. She liked the people she was staying with. Graham seemed a little wary, but she hadn't worked hard to make him feel otherwise. Shane didn't ask her a million questions, and while one of her gripes about life in general was that there was never anyone who ever asked her any questions, she knew she didn't know what most of the answers were. And that all she had were a bunch of questions in return and Shane certainly didn't have the answers to those. He didn't know her. He didn't know one thing about her, and still he didn't mind having her around and that was refreshing. It felt like people who did want her around and knew her all at the same time thought she couldn't handle anything. Or that they knew what was best for her.
But she was afraid, too much time around anyone, open book Evie would run her mouth too much and they'd get to know her and like everyone else turn to drugs, or die, or try and find someone else to take her off their hands, or just plain not want her at all. Or send her to the mutant house because the rain didn't stop. Or try and marry her off because she missed Will. So she went to the library. Or a coffee shop. Or alternated between the two.
The weather had evened out. The snow that fell now was supposed to be falling, normal snow. That, of course added to crap she'd put everywhere, but snow this wasn't her, and it wasn't extreme. And while she'd woken up from her nap a bit terrified that it had happened again. It hadn't and the trip to story time at the library had been fun, and Daisy had behaved.
And they'd gone home and watched a little TV and Daisy had gone to bed at a normal hour, Evie had begun reading a book, and once the house had quieted, and everyone else had gone to sleep. She found herself in the kitchen with burners on, and mixing bowls from home, the kitchen beginning to smell of gardenia and essential oils. Trying to remember the feel of Clementine's hair when she'd been just close enough, the description she'd given her. And the head of hair on the baby sleeping upstairs.
When she was done pouring and mixing and letting it set, she looked at a half smoked cigarette she'd pilfered from Shane earlier sitting by the back kitchen door and she thought about it for a minute. Of course she'd gone through her phases. She and Will both. Now more often than not. She'd quit for years. She let Will get away with it more than she let herself get away with it. She liked holiday cigars. But in the past months she was getting much. Much worse. Baby was sleeping. Smoking didn't count when baby was sleeping. She grabbed Shane's coat that she left hanging by the door and pulled on her muck boots ignoring the wince against her surgical bandages as she opened the back door and went outside and finished the damn thing off so fast it gave her a fucking buzz while the dog ran out and peed.
Back inside. She chewed some gum, she washed her hands, she put on another pot of coffee and was just pouring herself a cup when Daisy started coughing and Evie turned down the music that was barely playing so as not to bother anyone (thanks a lot for the earworm, Lin). And listened again. Yes. That was not definitely more than a cough. It was followed by a cry, and a "Maman!" and Evie dropped what she was doing and went into the living room. Ew. Mam'zelle had a tummy ache.
About twenty minutes later, bathed, clothes changed, blankets changed, the pak and play moved into the kitchen, music back on softly, and Daisy sucking on a bottle of lukewarm water with ginger and mint leaves in it eyes drooping closed and Evie sitting at the table, with the black lab puppy laying at her feet under the table. Evie was drawing a label, a little gardenia outlined in purple pen, really detailed and pretty. She was wearing a pair of her own sweats for a change, a button up denim shirt that didn't fit like it belonged to her, but wasn't one of Shane's that she'd been borrowing either. And her short black hair had a red polka dotted bandana. Rosie the Riveter making leave in conditioner. She barely noticed. At least she was keeping busy. And she wasn't making it snow.